Phoenix von Karma
by Otoshigo
Summary: Phoenix loses his memory. Franziska's older sister finds him and takes him in, convincing him he's a prosecutor in a sort of twisted act of revenge for her papa. So Phoenix disappears for a few years, and comes back as a prosecutor. Edgeworth now has to deal with this new Phoenix and hopefully rescue the man from his ironic fate. Originally posted on LJ. On HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

God, it hurts... it hurts so much...

A painful groan escaped from the chapped lips of the haggard shipwrecked soul, his dark lashes fluttering over his pale blue eyes which winced under the hot tropical sun. Nausea quivered in his gut like an angry bull, aches and sores twisting from him the very ability to move from his scorching grave. His trembling hand fisted the ground beneath him, feeling only the dry, rasping sand as it slid between his fingers. Assorted colors danced in his vision, and though groggy, the young man was coherent enough to realize that there was something terribly wrong with his body and his vision.

A shadow passed over him, relieving him from the ruthless sun, and he quietly thanked the angel who provided him shade. If only he could see who it was...

**YOU~!** The word swam into his consciousness, his recognition of the word delayed. **WhaT are YOU! doIng hERe~**

You? he wondered. Me? Somehow a connection did not click and with a dawning horror, the haggard mind realized that it did not recognize the person that this angel was accusing him of being.

His breath was like raspy husk as he breathed out, "Yo-u... know-me?" The shadow above him shivered in the heat. "Plea-se- I can-t -emember..." For a long time, the shadow didn't answer. Vaguely, he wondered if he was on the verge of death and this shade was the grim reaper dwelling upon him in limbo. Or was he already dead and somehow in his nonexistent past, he had deserved this nightmarish hell.

**YoU don-t RemeMber?** it asked. It could have been confused or angry or even happy for all his addled brain could figure out. Instead, he rasped a simple 'no' in reply, holding back the tears of frustration and the agony that was still shooting through his body. If this person didn't know who he was, he didn't know what he was going to do. **~FeEniks: YouR naMe is FeaNix...**

His brow drew into a tightly knit frown, his mind still attempting to discern the words, his cognition still not up to par. The title he gave him still did not register, and he wondered if it would always remain foreign to him. **Hold ON, PheAniks. I wIll geT YOu some Help. Just SLepp.** The voice, he realized, was comforting now and a hand pressed against the bare skin of his sun burnt back, trying to soothe him as it massaged his aching skin. Pain riveted through his body from the long massages, drumming his fatigued mind into a sweet stupor.

~o~

June 17, 2022

Chief Prosecutor's Office

7:20 AM

A silver coin danced around atop the flat and bare surface of the mahogany desk, the afternoon flashing brightly in its spinning sides. It seemed to flutter on top of the wood, as lifelike as a young butterfly drifting lazily about the desk.

A hand slammed down on the coin, swatting it like a bug.

Detective Gumshoe, a gruff but amiable criminal investigator, glanced up from his squatting position to look straight into the colorless gaze of the district's chief prosecutor. He jumped to attention, his old, tan trenchcoat sweeping up off the floor with his broad shoulders. "Oh! Mr. Edgeworth, sir! I was waiting for you!"

"Yes, that much is apparent," the office's owner answered sharply, though without the venom reserved for the truly annoying pests. Albeit it was hard to get the prosecutor to respond to much of anything anymore. As Detective Gumshoe looked over the hunched shoulders of the wine colored suit and the haggard pale face of Miles Edgeworth – he could tell all was not well. His platinum hair had lost its luster and his gaunt fatigue only made his angular features all the more vampyric. Even his cravat seemed to droop.

Gumshoe knew what was the matter this day, and he felt vaguely powerless that he couldn't do a thing about it. How could anyone make time stop after all? "So... I have the details on the prosecutor that's being transferred," he spoke as he fumbled for the envelope that he had received from the Attorney General's office.

An elegant hand tapped against the wooden rim of the inbox atop the desk. Reluctantly, the detective let the envelope fall, the heavy papers snapping sharply against the wood. For a long moment, he stood at the edge of the desk, shuffling his weight from one foot to another as he tried to muster the courage to speak with the haggard attorney. Edgeworth's void of attentiveness did little to help his cause. "...Are you alright, Mr. Edgeworth?" he finally asked, awkwardly, dipping his head so he could better gauge the prosecutor's downcast expression.

Those colorless eyes snapped up, startling the detective. "What do you mean?" the prosecutor asked dully, "I am the same as any other day."

Detective Gumshoe could only sigh, his heart swelling with frustration and ultimately pity for his long time friend. "It's been five years to the day since the shipwreck. I know you still feel guilty about giving him the ticket to get him outta your hair, but with all due respect, you have to let it go, sir."

The prosecutor, still only a young man in the middle aged detective's eyes, sifted a hand through his platinum bangs, briefly clenching it between his fingers before he let the appendage fall to his desk. He remained silent, his eyes trained on the immobile silver coin the detective had been playing with, like a lifeless doll as he refused to brood over the older man's words.

Once again, Gumshoe decided to make his case. "Mr. Edgeworth, please. I know he meant a lot to you, but you guys were only friends." A sharp flicker of something ran through those eyes at his words, encouraging the detective to press further. He leaned on the edge of the desk, his face soulful and pleading. "Just think about it, for the sake of the friends who are still here."

"Do I need to ask someone else to investigate his disappearance?" Edgeworth demanded abruptly, forcing the detective to realize that the other man had hardly been listening.

Gumshoe's cheeks colored with anger and he slowly pulled back from the desk, his fists trembling at his sides. "No, that's not necessary, sir," he answered, his words tight and heated. "See you later." Without the usual dismissal, Detective Gumshoe stormed from the room, leaving Edgeworth alone in the shivering room. Unshaken by the hasty departure, Miles stared down at the face of the silver coin upon his desk.

"Only friends..." he echoed, knowing how utterly tragic and devastating and true the words were. God, if only I was not plagued by so many 'what if's. A shuddering sigh escaped him and the young man rested his forehead against his hands in a brief moment of weakness.

No, the day had only started, Miles knew, shaking himself from his grief. He had to make some attempt to get through the hours...

His colorless eyes glanced over to the envelope that Gumshoe had left before his undesired sermon. At least work had to be done, and gratefully there was always plenty of it. Reaching over for the envelope, Miles pulled out a manila folder from its package, quickly disposing the useless wrapping. This new prosecutor was due in little less than a week and he had barely started rearranging the prosecutor's office to accommodate him. His old office would have to do temporarily, until he could find someplace more suitable for the new arrival. Ah, he needed a welcome package as well. He would delegate the work to one of his subordinates then.

Offhandedly, Miles opened up the file, copying the name down onto his e-mail page. He did not register the name at first, but seconds later, like a loathsome wraith, the name dripped poison into his eyes.

**von Karma, Phoenix**

Phoenix! His thoughts snapped upon the name he had repressed for so long, instantly conjuring an image of jet black spikes and a handsome earnest face, inlaid with sapphire eyes.

NO! No, stop it! STOP! He screamed into his own head, lashing out at his mind's portrait with a mad fury. It cannot be him! With one last stroke, he tore the image away, realizing only then how wide his eyes were as he stared upon the name as it glared at him from the monitor, his heart racing and his breath but shallow rapid pants.

There are plenty with that name, Miles berated himself, casting his eyes away from the screen. What I should be more concerned with is this von Karma relation I have never heard of before... With barely a thought, his hand was on the phone, dialing up Franziska von Karma, the only one of her lineage that he felt relatively comfortable with. The phone rang on the other side, shivering like a death rattle, sending an ominous chill through Miles' bones as he waited for a response.

The line clicked, halfway startling the chief prosecutor. "Hallo?" a sharp feminine voice spoke from the other side.

"Franziska," he spoke, barely giving the younger attorney enough time for a proper salutation, "did you hear about the new prosecutor that's being transferred into my district?"

A humm, like static over the line. "Nein, only that there is one."

Miles paused, thinking over her response. She did not seem to be lying, though he did not know yet if there was any motivation for deception. "Well, he's a von Karma. Phoenix von Karma..."

"Oh?" she said, not particularly perturbed by the information. "I have heard of no Phoenix in our familie. Ironic his name, though." A mirthful laugh, oblivious to the emotions that raged through her 'little brother' at that particular comment. "Where is he coming from?" His gray eyes glanced over the information and relayed it across the line. "Munich? Ah München!" Franziska echoed with delight. "Wunderbar! Meine Schwester has a summer house in Garmisch! The one just at the foot of Zugsptize? It is only a little way from München. I heard that she has die Zeit vertreiben there lately. Maybe they are having good weather there recently."

"Oh?" Miles responded, much in the same curious detached way that Franziska had earlier, coating over the strange nervous energy that coiled in his gut. He only very rarely met Franziska's older sister and whenever they did meet, they usually did not part on pleasant terms. Quite frankly, the woman reminded him far, far too much of his sorry excuse of a foster father – Manfred von Karma. Perhaps, he was being unduly suspicious of her now, but he could not quite escape the possibility that she was up to no good. "So, is there a possibility that she knows this... certain von Karma then?"

"Vielleicht." He could almost sense the shrug over the phone. "I can ask her, if you are interested."

His heart thundered in his chest, his hand trembling around the handle of the phone and it took a concerted effort to keep his breathes at a cool and collected level. "Yes, that would be most helpful. I would like to at least get a feel for this person's character before he arrives."

"Very well, I shall call her soon and let you know." Sensing that despite his calm tone, Miles was very interested in this new von Karma, the younger prosecutor added rather cheekily, "Bitte sehr im voraus, kleiner Bruder."

A rough, unpracticed smile pulled at the corners of Miles mouth at the younger prosecutor's audacity. You're welcome in advance, indeed... "Danke, Franziska." Then he dropped the phone onto the receiver, falling back to rest against the soft leather back of his chair, his eyes still staring at the name upon the screen, the e-mail of delegation waiting to be sent off. He thought of someone else taking on the work, taking the man through the office and all its protocol, looking over his shoulder, accompanying him to court for his first month in the United States.

And at the thought, something sharp and ugly formed in the center of his chest, clawing its prison like a rabid animal...

On impulse, he closed the window. Yet the feeling lingered. Miles buried the heel of his wrist against his eye, determined to rationalize the sensation away. God, why are you getting possessive? You do not even know if this is him? How can it be him! In his eyes, Phoenix Wright and the von Karma family were like matter and anti-matter, complete and total polar opposites. That they should be associated in any way was simply preposterous.

Yet the chief prosecutor glanced over the file, scouring it for any clues.

**Name (Last/First): **von Karma, Phoenix  
**DOB:** June 17, 1992  
**POB:** Phoenix, AZ, USA  
**Education:  
**Zwischenprüfung (BA): University of Münster – awarded May 8, 2008  
Diplom Recht FH (Master of Laws): Ludwig-Maximilians-University of Munich Faculty of Law – awarded May 16, 2012  
**Experience:  
**Prosecuting Attorney practicing in the Munich East-District Court of Law in Munich, Germany from September 14, 2017 through June 1, 2022  
Served as Legal Aide for Friedrich von Karma from April 27, 2013 through August 25, 2017.  
Served as Court Clerk from May 21, 2012 through April 25, 2013.

Attached:  
See cases worked

A small sliver of disappointment ran through the chief prosecutor as he deducted the rather obvious reason for the incoming prosecutor's non-German name. Perhaps his parents had taken vacation there and he was merely an unexpected souvenir. Nonetheless, he continued reading, humming as he calculated the dates within his mind. A Bachelors when he was fifteen, a Masters when he was nineteen. Then he built up five years of experience in the court system before he became a full fledged attorney at law. Even then, as he looked over the cases, the man won all but five of his cases and even those were only initial proceedings before the boy truly had a handle of the court.

If this man was anything but a von Karma, Miles Edgeworth would have the man immediately investigated for fraud. Given the family's astounding number of talented personas, this one was rather mediocre compared to the rest of the line.

However, Miles could not help but feel that something was out of place, his gaze growing darker as he checked and rechecked the information. Yes, there was certainly something strange with these dates, no less than three coincidences pointedly glaring at him in the face, his alarm growing as he read them over and over again to make sure they were not a fabrication of his mind. He was not sure what to make of it, though he knew for certain that he did not like this desperate feeling of hope that had replaced the jealousy lurking within him. He could not afford to be damaged by this...

Yet against his better judgment, Miles Edgeworth never sent out that e-mail of delegation and immediately set to work on the preparations for Phoenix von Karma's arrival, wishing that Franziska would call him back sooner rather than later.


	2. Chapter 2

June 21, 2022

Chief Prosecutor's Office

4:06 PM

Footsteps echoed in the Chief Prosecutor's office, bouncing off the vaulting shelves, the nervous thuds indicative of the pacer's mood as he frittered about the office waiting for the new attorney to arrive. The air was almost electric, vibrating with a nervous energy that simply made it impossible for him to sit placidly and do work. Instead, as the clock ticked closer to 4:15 PM, the more distracted he became, bold print blurring into an illegible mess, his keen mind unable to hold onto a single train of thought before it inevitably lead back to his guest.

To make it worse, Franziska had yet to return his call. His multiple calls. How could he walk into this with no preparation whatsoever for the man that he would meet? Was it some balding German aristocrat? Was he an unconformed brat? Would he be a new enemy? Or an inconsequential lout?

Is it...

Miles swallowed.

Is it Phoenix?

His nerves had long since started getting the better of him, suspicion and paranoia gnawing at the lucidity of his mind.

Miles' pace grew more fervent as the clock kept on ticking, each second a resounding toll in his beleaguered mind. Franziska was avoiding him on purpose, wasn't she? Maybe she was laughing at him behind his back? She was laughing. She was certainly laughing at his predicament. She knew something didn't she? She and her sister were obviously in cahoots. A conspiracy, it had to be! This was all some kind of trick so that Franziska could take advantage of his weakness and usurp the position of chief prosecutor from him.

Well, he wasn't going to let them! He absolutely refused to be-

The intercom buzzed, breaking the spiraling descent of the prosecutor's thoughts. His secretary's mousy voice crackled over the line. "Mr. Edgeworth, Phoenix von Karma is here, sir."

His body grew numb, a freezing bucket of water dumped over his body and his feverish thoughts. In two steps, he was next to his desk, a finger pressed so hard against the return button that it nearly punched through. "A-all right. Send him in, please."

And so Miles waited, silent and still, listening intently for some sign of his visitor. His heart hammered against his ears so loudly that he nearly missed the quiet footsteps that trailing towards his office.

That gait... Miles could hardly breath, staying completely silent as he heard that familiar pattern stretch along the corridor.

The door opened and Miles' heart stopped when he came face to face to a pair of instantly recognizable blue eyes.

Phoenix !

His knees threatened to turn to jelly, falling out from under him before this ghost of years past. And he had grown so beautifully, no longer the lanky and awkward overgrown teen, filling out into a proper man. "It – it's really you..." he whispered, pure sweet elation pouring through the blissful smile on his face and his wide gray eyes as five long years of grief had vanished in an instant. Suddenly, he was overcome with the desperate need to hold this man in his arms and know that his friend was truly, physically there.

Before he realized it, he was striding along the length of his office towards Phoenix with open arms.

Those blue eyes flashed with panic, the raven haired man taking a quick couple of steps back from the impending embrace. "Herr Edgeworth," he spoke hastily, taking a low bow to prevent the unusual greeting. "I apologize, but I am not used to such gestures." He straightened up, holding his hands behind his back as he began a prompt and courteous recitation. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Edgeworth. I am Phoenix von Karma der München, Deutschland. I have heard a great deal about you and I willingly put myself in your care."

What... what the hell is going on?

Miles could only stare at this stranger that sported his childhood friend's face. His voice was mangled by a sharp German accent. What's more this courteous demeanor and posh bearing were nothing like the Phoenix he knew.

As the fair haired prosecutor took the time to gaze upon him, he noticed the other startling changes. Phoenix's wardrobe had been updated, the man garbed in faux military uniform, sporting an ornate royal blue jacket whose coat tails brushed along the back of his knees and the self-same lace jabot the easy-going man had always poked fun at the prosecuting attorney for wearing. And his hair... It had obviously been forced to grow out, forming a ponytail between his shoulder blades. The length made it difficult for the man's hair to spike as it once did and long bangs framed that familiar face – though a couple barbs stubbornly remained.

No wonder no one in the office stopped him. Phoenix no longer looked like the frumpled and laid-back defense attorney they all knew, but instead was the perfect German gentleman. Yet what was worst of all, was the painful realization that Phoenix Wright did not recognize him at all...

His nerves grew numb, the chief prosecutor unable to utter an intelligible word as he could naught help but stare helplessly at this distorted doppelganger. A frown knit Phoenix's brow, waiting for some response from his new supervisor. "Herr Edgeworth?" he spoke, his words not mended with less concern and more wariness as he canted his head to read Edgeworth's expression. "Dich sticht wohl der Hafer?"

Only then it occurred to Miles how abnormal his behavior was. "Er, yes. Yes, I am fine." He swallowed heavily, his colorless eyes unable to tear away from his visitor's face. His hands trembled at his sides, forcing the attorney to hastily hide them inside his pockets. He merely nodded towards the pair of couches situated across the room from his desk, "Mr... von Karma," the name did not come easily, thick and uncomfortable in his mouth, "do sit down. I would... I would get to know you better before I show you about the office. Would you like something to drink?"

His voice wavered despite himself, threatening to crack upon a moment's notice.

"I will have what you are having, Herr Edgeworth," Phoenix answered, oblivious to the other man's distress, as he seated himself down in the center of the sofa. Phoenix always likes the end of the couch, that way he could kick off his shoes and put up his feet against my protests.

"Right, tea it is then." Phoenix is a coffee drinker. Miles worked in auto-pilot as he prepared the tea leaves, going into a self-preserving daze to combat the desperation and disorienting confusion, along with the aching loneliness. His Phoenix was right in front of his eyes and yet now more than ever he felt so unreachable. My Phoenix? he thought self-depreciatingly. I never had him in the first place.

Twin cups of Royal Blend in his best china were delicately placed on the wooden coffee table between Miles and his guest, as he sat himself on the couch opposite the German prosecutor. No, he is not German, for God's sake! Phoenix took the cup up in his palm, nodding with a polite, "Danke schoen," and sipped at the amber brew indifferently. Oh good God, he even held out his pinky when he drank.

Miles Edgeworth, get a hold of yourself.

A tremor of anger reverberated through Miles' very bones, his fingers as white as the china he was clutching. Why should I have to get a hold of myself?! He disappears for a whole five years and he has the audacity to come back and pull off this ridiculous stunt?! I have every right to get up right now and shake the answers I want out of him!

Stop it, you do not know what is going on! You do not want to scare him away!

Yet the prosecutor simply could not do nothing while this false image of Phoenix Wright threatened to break him. He still had those in his office, didn't he? "How do you like the tea?" Miles asked, curious but trying not to seem unhealthily so. Walking back to the small cabinet where he kept his tea and china, Miles kneeled down to rummage about in the back recesses of the shelves.

"It is excellent, Herr Edgeworth. Danke," Phoenix answered with detached politeness, more interested in his supervisor's activity. He only blinked when Miles returned to the sofas with a small plate of... cookies.

"Do help yourself, Phoenix," Miles gestured towards the plate, as he sat down once again. "May I call you Phoenix?"

Phoenix von Karma blushed, perhaps with embarrassment. "I... I am not used to such gestures, Herr Edgeworth. I have never spoken to my colleagues so informally." He paused, averting his eyes from Edgeworth's face to the unfinished cup of tea in his hands. "...H-however, you may in private if it pleases you," he spoke in a quiet rush of breath.

A flush of pleasure ran through Miles at those words and for the first time since his discovery, a small but genuine smile breached his cold defenses.

His blue eyes still averted and hastily searching for a distraction, Phoenix plucked a cookie from the pristine white plate and took a delicate bite out of it. However, his eyes lit up with that small taste and he took another bite from it, then another, his bites growing to healthier proportions as he polished off the whole plate in just minutes. Those blue eyes stared dejectedly at the small crumbs that dusted the small china.

"Would you like some more, Phoenix?" Miles asked with amusement.

Another blush darkened the new prosecutor's cheeks as he furtively nodded, reviving those sweet fantasies that Miles had always secretly harbored and he suddenly found it more difficult to breathe.

However, a sharp snap of guilt accompanied his sudden ability to make the former defense attorney squirm. His old friend would have never responded to him in this way. Yet this new Phoenix was far too shy to resist reacting to the informal gestures and at the same time too courteous to actually tell Miles to halt his friendly advances. He really should not be able to take advantage of Phoenix like this when the man was obviouslyout of his mind.

Yet, could he really be blamed if he derived even a minimal amount of pleasure from Wright's... vulnerability?

A smug but guilty grin stretched across Mile's lips as he refilled the dish for his guest. "Chips Ahoy Big Chunk Chocolate Chip Cookies. Have you never had them before?"

Once the plate was set down, Phoenix instantly took to them again. "That is an exceedingly long name. And nein. I have never had these before." The new prosecutor paused his rapid indulging. A frown knit a crease in his brow, as he let the taste roll on his tongue. "...At least, I do not believe so. Well, perhaps I have. Maybe during my childhood. At least, I cannot recollect ever having these before. But they... certainly taste familiar."

He seems very confused... This was a good thing.

"So, Phoenix…" Miles leaned back into the soft back of the leather sofas, his fingers knitting together as he surveyed his new charge with a critical eye. "Do tell me about yourself. You must have led an interesting life being a... von Karma."

His guest offered a tense smile. "Truth be told, there is not much to say, Herr Edgeworth. I grew up in München under the care of meine kusine and then went into the family business and became a prosecutor. I am hardly as accomplished as Onkels Friedrich and Manfred, or Kusine Franziska. Or even yourself. I do not have a perfect record, nor did I start out at a young age. Then again, I suppose only Onkel Friedrich still has his record."

The humor in Miles' mood washed away. "Ah," he uttered intelligently. Did Phoenix actually believe what he was saying? "...You grew up in Germany..." Who told him such lies?! "With... with who?"

The smile grew. "Kusine Benedikta and her family."

Friedrich von Karma's daughter. Who died six years ago. How convenient.

Miles' eyes narrowed. "You must have been close," he said tightly. The crackles of stretching leather squealed under his hands as he gripped the arm of his sofa.

"Oh very," Phoenix answered quickly, with an enthusiasm uncharacteristic to his new quiet demeanor. "We were friends since childhood when I was taken into the family." The raven-haired attorney reached down to the gold chain that hung across his vest pockets, pulling out an ornate gold locket. His smile became so unbearably gentle as he unclasped the lock and presented his supervisor with the delicate portrait of a young, pretty aristocratic lady with rich brown curls and deep blue eyes.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" he spoke softly, his expression wistful as he looked upon the petite picture, gazing back into a fabricated past. "We were to be married."

Something in Edgeworth snapped at those simple words. A fake fiancée. A fantasy. A lie. Yet it earned the tenderness in Phoenix's eyes, the softness in his cultured voice, that smile reserved for a lover…

**It did not belong there**.

"Stop it." The raven-haired prosecutor glanced up at the low guttural growl and his eyes grew wide with alarm as though he could see the very manifestation of Edgeworth's fury torrenting about him like a flame. "I have tolerated this game thus far, Wright," Miles hissed, his hands digging into the couch so tightly his knuckles were pure white, "but I will not stand for this – this farce any longer."

"Right? Game?" Phoenix echoed, quickly snapping the locket away and holding it tightly within the palm of his hand for safekeeping. "Herr Edgeworth, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Stop calling me Herr Edgeworth, Wright!" Miles bellowed, his voice quaking off the vaulted ceiling. "My name is Mr. Miles – Fucking – Edgeworth!"

"O-okay," Phoenix responded timidly, shrinking back into the couch. Then he blinked. "W-wait, are you calling me Right?"

A fist slammed down on the arm of the leather sofa, silencing the stammerings of the foreign guest. In a quiet fury, Miles stood from the sofa and stalked towards his desk, unlocking the lowest mahogany drawer. In but seconds, he pulled out an old photograph, the once white edges curled and yellowed, though the depiction itself was in pristine condition. Before he knew it, he shoved the picture in front of Phoenix's nose.

"This is Phoenix Wright," he spoke in a voice barely audible though the other man heard every word he spoke. "Surely, you must have heard of him. The man who ruined the von Karma name? Your life is a sham, Phoenix von Karma, because the one who orchestrated Manfred and Franziska von Karma's downfall was none other than you!"

Phoenix was silent.

His blue eyes glanced over the photograph but inches away from his nose, before a hand rose to pluck the picture from Miles' hand. He gave it only a superficial glance, before his sapphire eyes turned a dull and angry gaze upon the fair haired attorney.

"...I have to admit there is a remarkable similarity, Mr. Miles F-ing Edgeworth," the raven-haired prosecutor replied testily. "However, I am notPhoenix Wright of Los Angeles, California. I am Phoenix von Karma der München, Deutschland. A von Karma. I am a prosecuting attorney. I have never set foot in the United States. And I would most certainly not strip both Onkel Manfred and Kusine Franziska of their perfect records."

In one sudden movement, he crushed the photograph within his hands and threw it at his verbal assailant. The white ball flew past Miles' shoulder, only a hair's breath from hitting him in the face.

Phoenix von Karma crossed his arms, his blue eyes blazing as steel shot through his bones. "I had heard that you held a great deal of animosity for the von Karma family, but I had never imagined that you would stoop to such levels to try to defame yet another of our line. So if you would be so kind, Herr Edgeworth, I would like to halt this farce as well and be shown to my new office so I can forget your baseless accusations and get down to work."

The chief prosecutor could do naught but stare helplessly at Phoenix in the face of the unexpectedly violent reaction. With dawning horror, Miles realized that he had somehow evoked the flame of determination within his childhood friend. A stubborn spark that, if given enough fuel, would become an unstoppable conflagration. He had seen it far too many times before, when Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney became so emotionally involved in the case he worked, giving it all to get the verdict that he wanted.

And it meant no matter what Miles said now, Phoenix was not going to listen to him.

What have I done?

Edgeworth felt physically ill, his whole body trembling from his shallow breaths and the fire in his veins. But most of all he was sick with self-disgust at his lack of self-control that curled in the pit of his stomach as a sudden bout of nausea. His hand shook as he stooped down to pick up the discarded photo from the burgundy floor, despair threatening to get the better of the hard and collected prosecutor.

No, all was not lost. This was merely a challenge to his abilities as an attorney. Wright called these accusations baseless? Well, Miles Edgeworth was not the District Chief Prosecutor for nothing. He would get the evidence he needed and he would flaunt it in Phoenix's face – even if he had to go all the way to Germany to get it.

Do not worry, Wright. I will find so many contradictions in your story that you will go sick with disgust from your unintentional lies. Then you will believe me and then I can bring you back to your true life once more.

His expression as cold as ice, Miles calmly smoothed out the crumpled photograph and stored it away in the inner pocket of his magenta jacket. "Very well, Phoenix," he spoke with a deadly calm, ignoring the small wince from the other man at the informal name. "Since you are so eager to settle down, I will show you to your office."

The wariness was still in those blue eyes. Perhaps to stay for good. "Well... good," Phoenix said carefully, his hand still holding onto that infernal locket. "I am glad we agree on something."

Edgeworth nodded curtly. "If you would just wait in the lobby for a moment. I have a phone call to make and I will accompany you."

The raven-haired man simply stayed put for a couple uncertain seconds, before he nodded and hastily exited the large room. Scarcely before the door shut behind him, Miles' hand was on the phone booking a plane ticket to Germany under the name of a Mr. Gumshoe.


	3. Chapter 3

June 28, 2022

Prosecutor's Office

7:47 AM

There was only one thing to explain it. Herr Edgeworth was attempting to bribe him.

And if that wasn't pathetic enough he was trying to do it with food.

Phoenix von Karma's face grew gray as for the seventh morning he spent in the United States, Miles Edgeworth was waiting outside his office and/or home, waiting in hand with a small bag of treats. And it was guaranteed to be delicious. All throughout the past week, Herr Edgeworth had shown up without fail at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, propositioning him with a whole number of American delicacies. Like cinnamon buns, hamburgers, ramen, clam chowder, pizza and even more of those Chunk... Cookie... things... whatever they were called.

Out of principle, the German prosecutor had to refuse him each time. Yet instead of the man simply disposing of the goods, his supervisor would just leave them on his desk, trying to tempt him as together they went through the different formalities of the US legal system and started arranging evidence for his first trial.

In spite of his dignity's protests, Phoenix wondered what the other man had brought him this time. It smelled amazing and despite himself, his mouth began to salivate as his stomach protested for the waiting goodies. Verdammt! He knew he should have not skipped breakfast today!

Phoenix didn't know how Herr Edgeworth could tempt him like this. Frankly, he did not like the man one bit. True, he was intelligent, well versed, witty when he wanted to be and he was breathtakingly confident in his work. So much more so than Phoenix ever felt as a prosecuting attorney at least, he admitted with resentment. Miles Edgeworth was everything that he had imagined from the stories. But... but the fair haired prosecutor kind of freaked him out actually.

Of course, that could have been from the bout of insanity that Herr Edgeworth had displayed some days prior.

His blue eyes peeked around the sharp edge of the corner, peering over at his supervisor and wondering if he could somehow outwait him. However, his supervisor was proving to be just about as stubborn as he was, staunchly waiting in front of the door like a stead-fast soldier. Sohe was forced to stay in his hiding place around the corner to his office, hiding away from the man like a meek rabbit.

Internally Phoenix sulked. This wasn't fair. He was a von Karma, for Heaven's sake! This was utterly humiliating – being chased about like this!

He did not dare tell a soul about the verbal attack on his first day or this constant stalking. He was a von Karma after all, and consequently not terribly well liked recently. It was his duty to restore honor to the family name and there was simply no way that he could do that if he whined about being harassed. No one would probably believe him either. Once again, his blue eyes glanced around the corner, seeing no change in Miles F. Edgeworth's stance.

Damn pink touting fop, Phoenix inwardly cursed at him.

...He seems like he's making an effort though.

Oi, that's your stomach talking.

Still, truthfully he had to be somewhat flattered by the pursuit. Herr Edgeworth was being incredibly persistent in trying to win him over. What's more, in all this time, the chief prosecutor had yet to bring up Phoenix Wright again, even though the German prosecutor could just see the desire to do so burning in those colorless eyes. Well... among other things. Phoenix wasn't blind, after all.

Anyone would have to be an idiot not to see what was behind those long, heated, unblinking stares. Even just thinking about it, blood rushed from his heart straight to his cheeks, the sensation like ticklish ants crawling through his veins, distracting even from the complaints in his stomach.

Phoenix von Karma, do not even think what you are thinking... or something along those lines, the German prosecutor berated himself. Herr Edgeworth is infatuated with this Phoenix Wright. The fact that he somehow mistakes me for that... abomination, does not entitle me to – to stuff I am not supposed to think about!

With a sigh, Phoenix reached for his golden locket, flicking it open with one hand to gaze upon the beautiful visage of his late fiancée, wondering what she would say. Onkel Friedrich would certainly disapprove of anything less than cold and passively aggressive conduct when it came to the family traitor, much less being politely professional with him. In fact Onkel Friedrich may just fly all the way from Deutschland to come fetch him if he ever heard that Herr Edgeworth was stalking him like this. Followed with some sound beating for good measure. His back ached to think of it.

His eyes glanced down at his watch. 8:13... He was officially late for work. As was the chief prosecutor, but he certainly did not seem to mind.

This could not go on, Phoenix realized. And quite frankly he would never get anywhere if he remained in bad relations with his supervisor, especially a man as powerful as Herr Edgeworth. He never had really intended to get into a spat with him in the first place and the man was doing whatever he could to gain his forgiveness. And he honestly just wanted to sit down and eat while he worked and hopefully have a normal day.

I give up. You win.

Letting loose a heavy rush of breath, the raven-haired prosecutor pocketed his locket and turned the corner, striding towards his office doors. Not unexpectedly, as soon as he emerged from his hiding spot, Herr Edgeworth had turned a sickeningly smug smirk on him, letting Phoenix know that his supervisor had known he was there the entire time.

Phoenix rewarded him with a resigned glare. "What did you bring me this time?"

The crinkle of rustling paper sounded as his supervisor held up the brown bag. "Manhattan bagels with Philadelphian cream cheese as well as apfelstrudel."

"...You are not going to give up any time soon, are you?" the German prosecutor asked, knowing full well the answer.

That confident smirk only grew wider. "Nein."

Damn pink touting fop, Phoenix cursed him again. His fingers strummed against his thigh, thudding lightly against the royal blue material of his long jacket, at least pretending that he was deliberating what to do. After some length, he spoke but one curt word, "Fine." However, his expression was one of a happy loser, despite his brave attempts to hide it. Opening the door, Phoenix vaguely gestured towards the magenta drenched room. "Come in, Herr Edgeworth. We can have breakfast while we go over witness testimonies."

Miles promptly followed.

~o~

June 29, 2022

Prosecutor's Office

12:45 PM

"Herr Edgeworth, something is rather strange about the evidence you have given me."

Miles glanced up from his newspaper. He had settled down for lunch on the magenta sofa of his old office, content to simply watch his new charge work as he relaxed. Or otherwise keep an eye on him, watching for small cracks in this new personality to examine and pick at.

Unfortunately, thus far, Phoenix had provided him with none. It was only yesterday that they had hashed out an agreement that they would share breakfast and lunch together at work after all. The raven-haired prosecutor was adamant that he be left on his own at home.

The restriction aggravated Miles, coupled with his other frustrations: namely Gumshoe's inactivity in Germany due to his jetlag and Franziska's complete phone silence despite his multiple calls. He could not very well do nothing. He wanted Phoenix Wright back and his patience was wearing down to a thread. However, with his relations with Phoenix as shaky as they were, prudence called for subterfuge.

However, Phoenix was by no means a stupid man. He was bound to figure it out sooner or later.

Miles had given his transfer a nearly impossible case, one where he was sure that the defendant was not guilty. Normally he discarded those types of cases when the police handed them to his office, demanding that they come back with either more evidence or a new suspect. However, this was an inconsequential charge, filed by a dated officer trying to have his last hurrah. All the evidence pointed towards the defendant, and it meant everything if the defense won and nothing if the plaintiff lost.

In other words, he wanted Phoenix to lose on purpose.

However, right now the raven-haired man was fixing him with a dull, unimpressed glare. "I am not a defense attorney, Herr Edgeworth," he said, slapping a hand against the documents. Some papers fluttered and slid with the movement. "I do not know what you expect me to do with this information."

The chief attorney chose not to answer right away, his gray calculating eyes assessing the effect that his careful scheming had on the raven haired man.

It seemed that the stress was getting to Phoenix. Already he had discarded his long jacket, hanging it on the curved back of the crimson leather chair, dressed only in the pristine white linen shirt and a silk wine colored vest. Even his jabot was carefully folded, laying on the edge of the cherry oak desk, and his ponytail brushed enticingly over his shoulder almost pulling the collar of his shirt aside to expose the rough lines of flesh beneath.

" –Edgeworth, are you even listening to me?"

Miles glanced up. "Hn? My apologies, what were you saying?"

Phoenix's face was flushed, probably with frustration. He leaned his chin on top of a propped forearm, a scowl setting into his features. "Please stop being so distracted, Herr Edgeworth. I wanted to know how you expect me to achieve a guilty verdict against Herr Sanders with this drivel."

A shrug and the chief attorney turned back to his newspaper. "I expect you to do what is right."

A cold anger washed over the raven-haired attorney, his fists tightening and his body tense as his gaze blackened, his cruelly sharp eyes falling onto the indifferent prosecutor.

At length, he spoke, "...You must really miss your friend." His voice was dull but cold.

"I do," Miles answered truthfully. He did not dare raise his eyes from the gray print, though he had long since stopped reading. He waited, tense and nervous, for a response.

"...Well, that is too bad." Phoenix began to shuffle the papers together, making more noise than necessary as his slaps and bangs snapped through the air like gunshots. Each sound made the chief prosecutor wince internally and he wonder in his stoic panic if he was going to have to rebuild their relations from scratch once more. Steeped in thought, he did not notice that his subordinate had already put on his jabot and was in the process of sliding his arms through the sleeves of his royal blue jacket.

"Herr Edgeworth." Miles looked up, his gray eyes meeting Phoenix's blue. "When I win this trial, I want you to promise that you will never give me such a spurious case again. Verstehen Sie mich?"

The chief attorney said nothing. He did not want to swear to such an oath, but if he did not then he had no idea what repercussions he would have to face. What's more, he was confused by the man's words. 'When' he won his case? It was plain that the defendant was blatantly innocent. How could Phoenix even think about disregarding that, choosing work over his principles?

"Do you understand me?" Phoenix reiterated, in English this time. Still his supervisor would not answer and the raven-haired prosecutor was left wanting. A vacuum had opened up between them, the two prosecutors locked in a quiet standstill, both unwilling to budge, either to give or to take. The air between them was thick and tense, like shimmering fog and Miles could only wait in dreadful anticipation for Phoenix's next move.

At last, the raven-haired prosecutor sighed, his breath shaky and he leaned over the edge of the cherry oak desk upon his palms, his blue eyes beseeching. "Herr Edgeworth, please. I do not want to keep fighting with you," he said quietly, almost a whisper. It was only then that Miles realized how tired Phoenix both looked and sounded. The anger in his expression was but a hollow shell, conflicting feelings of frustration, fatigue and even sadness intermeshed in the quaver of his voice and the unsteadiness of his eyes.

It stoked a spark of pity within the chief prosecutor in spite of himself, tearing cracks in his ruthless stratagems. Damn it all, Phoenix. I am trying to help you!

Nonetheless, he nodded albeit unwillingly. The bright smile that emerged from the residue of Phoenix's fatigue almost made the feeling of self-disgust worth it.

"Danke schoen, Herr Edgeworth," his subordinate spoke, not unkindly, his eyes lit with glorious relief. His hand absently tapped the back of his seat in a self-dismissing gesture as he prepared to leave. "Well, I will head over to the Police Precinct to investigate some more. I may not be back for the rest of the day." A short courteous bow. "So good day, Herr Edgeworth." With that, Phoenix left, his coat tails billowing with his rapid pace as he rushed off to police headquarters.

Miles was left, wallowing in a pool of regret. With a frustrated sigh, he folded up the newspaper and carelessly tossed it onto the cushion beside him, a headache pressing into his frontal lobes.

Damn it! he cursed, his long elegant fingers balling into fists. Why was I foolish enough to grant him that request! How will I set him back on the path of defending the innocent when all the defendants are going to be guilty!

"Mr. Edgeworth?" a young voice called out, his secretary, accompanied by a rapping on the door. He wearily looked up to her polite face. "Franziska von Karma is on the line for you, shall I transfer it in here?"

"...No, that will not be necessary. I will take it in the office."

His secretary nodded wordlessly and quickly scuttled off, perhaps afraid of the tightness in Edgeworth's voice and the anger in his colorless eyes. The chief prosecutor stood, quickly vacating his old office as he stalked towards his office, his fists still clenched tightly at his sides. Storming past his secretary's desk without a word, he dashed straight for the phone, the plastic handle put to the test as he picked up the phone.

"Hello, Franziska," he hissed, his tone subarctic. "Finally decided to call me back, did you?"

"Ah ja, about that..." She sounded so disgustingly casual as she spoke. Ever the patronizing harpy. "I was just having a talk with meine Schwester-"

"Franziska, I do not want to hear it. I do not care what sort of story you and your sister cooked up, but I will not even give those lies the dignity of being acknowledged! I do not know how you could have done this to Phoenix, but I will not let you have him anymore! If I cannot bring him back to the way he was before you witches tore into him, so help me, there will be hell to pay!"

" –wait! Mi-!"

"Good bye, Franziska!"

Miles Edgeworth slammed the phone down, the echoes reverberating in the silence that drenched the vaulted walls.


	4. Chapter 4

June 30, 2022

Chief Prosecutor's Office

11:47 AM

Miles supposed that he had been overly hasty when he slammed the phone down on his "sister."

After a great deal of thought, the chief prosecutor soon realized that taking out his frustration on her had only the temporary effect of venting out the flames of his rage, yet it had done nothing for the smoldering source of his anxiety that still thrived within him like some pestilent parasite. Even just speaking with her, he would have known whether or not Franziska had any lies to regale or if she was simply an outsider to this scheme. She certainly gave no indication that she had any part in this drastic change in Phoenix Wright earlier – unless somehow she had learned to cover that indicative smugness that lathered her voice whenever she was up to something...

Now he was sure that he would never find out. Miles understood Franziska's shortcomings well enough to know that she would likely not forgive him for his rash words with her. No matter what his excuses, the younger prosecutor would likely give him the silent treatment for over a month, given her stubborn and vindictive tendencies.

The fair haired prosecutor groaned with the realization, letting his head fall into his palms. Yes, he definitely made a mistake... and he was not sure how he could fix it.

A rap against the door, his secretary's signature pattern, sounded in the room, nearly startling Miles out of his thoughts. His body jerked back into functioning work mode, his back straightening and quickly reaching for the papers that he was supposed to be perusing through. "Mr. Edgeworth," the mousy young lady spoke, finding nothing amiss as she peeked into the large office. "Stuart Ferguson is here for the 11:30 appointment."

Edgeworth glanced at the black face of his Movado watch, a frown distorting his stoic expression. He sighed, his aura shifting to one of displeasure. Nonetheless, he spoke, "Fine," he nearly snapped with annoyance. "Tell him to be quick about it."

His secretary nodded quickly, sensing that her supervisor was once again in an awful tiff, not bothering to close the office door as he whispered frantically at the appointee and hustled the stout, balding man into the room. He was an unpleasant looking man with poor sweat control and wet beady eyes. His heavy frame was always decked in a either a green or brown suits that tailored to men of a lighter build, consequently making the man look even more stretched out and portly than he actually was. Miles disaffectionately referred to him as 'toad.'

Even just looking at the oncoming waddler, the chief prosecutor's mood dropped even further, the man's entrance only fueling the storm brewing in his mind.

"Yo! Miles!" Stuart smiled, Stu, he insisted on being called, as he waved and weaved about the twin sofas as he tread towards the enormous mahogany desk that Edgeworth occupied. "Sorry for being late, got caught up in work."

That was highly unlikely.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Ferguson?" Miles asked tightly, folding his hand together on his desk, leveling a flat and heavy gaze upon the amphibian-like man.

Stu laughed jovially, unperturbed by the intimidating stare. "W-well, I just wanted to have a word with you about the trial that I have the day after tomorrow..." Oh God. "And as it turns out that one of the key witnesses is in the hospital right now for surgery and she won't be able to show up."

"Yes... Ms. Jones," Miles spoke in a cold drawl, his eyes boring into the man's thick hide. "I am aware of her situation. I also recall that this information was given to you over a month ago. And I am quite sure that I advised that you either record her testimony or reschedule the trial."

Another laugh, loud and obnoxious like an ass's bray. "Oh? Oh really? I guess that I never got the e-ma-"

"It was sent to you the 15th of April at 8:30 in the morning," Edgeworth interrupted, swinging around his flat screen monitor, displaying the tagged and received e-mail the day of.

"Oh..." Stu replied sheepishly, at a loss for words.

Mercilessly, the chief prosecutor continued his quiet persecution. "I also sent you another e-mail June 1, asking whether you had done as I had advised and you wrote back to me stating that you had it..." his colorless eyes momentarily glanced at the screen before weighing significantly down on his visitor, "covered."

"Ahh... weeell... That wasn't – it was true then, but my assistant..." He let out another chortle. "Well, you know how these things are. Subordinates have a tendency to fib a little when they're trying to impress the boss."

"Yes. Quite," Edgeworth answered, glaring significantly at the portly fellow as he said those words.

Stu smiled with unbearable cheer. "Well, in any case, what's done is done, eh? We just gotta move on, go on with our lives."

Does this toad not even have the shame to look remorseful? "And how do you propose to do that when we are still mired with this minor inconvenience of having the key witness in the hospital and the deadline for rescheduling the trial already past?"

At that Ferguson beamed, oblivious to his supervisor's anger. "Well, as I understand it, you have an in with the judge, right?" he asked, his beady eyes lighting up as he looked upon his would-be savior. "You could, ahh, just have a small talk with him. Explain the situation a bit, see if we can't work something out."

God, so that was what he came here for. He could have at least had the decency to show up on time if he was going to beg for the chief prosecutor to come salvage the mess he managed to himself entrenched in. Miles' scowl grew deeper, his angular features honing in to incise the soon-to-be-retiring prosecutor with a deathly glare. "...I will speak to the judge then. And this? This will not happen again. Understand?"

"Of course, sir!" Stu responded with that same sickeningly good cheer, two fingers shooting up to his brow in a mock salute.

Why do I have to deal with these people? Oh right, because he knows the mayor... Miles all but muttered to himself, a black sneer lining the edge of his stoic expression. Dealing with these types every day made him almost wish he was back to being just a high prosecutor. "Right," the attorney muttered darkly, "I will speak to him in the afternoon. Right now I am already late for lunch. So if you would please leave."

Maddeningly enough, the man did not listen. "Oh lunch?" he spoke lightly. They tone in his voice was almost coy, immediately setting off warning bells in the fair haired prosecutor's mind. "You're eating with that new boy again, aren't you?"

Miles grit his teeth, determined to ignore that ignorant twinkle in the other man's eye. "I do not see what business it is of yours," he spoke sharply as he shuffled his papers together on top of his desk.

Stu merely shrugged. "Well, I don't really care, but y'know..." he leaned over the edge of the desk, vaguely reminding Miles of overflowing fat. "People here, they have a tendency to talk."

"Oh?" the prosecutor countered with painfully fake curiosity.

The toad nodded sagely, crossing his arms over his chest. The action stretched his suit to even tighter lengths, its seams plainly visible. "You have to admit, you've been spending a lot of time with him. It makes people think things – talk of favoritism floating about."

Favoritism? That's a laugh. Phoenix Wright may not be a real prosecutor; however, he is doing a much better job at it than you are, the fair haired attorney mentally snapped at the smarmy little bastard. Miles did have to hand it to the confused young man – at least he was bothering to cross-reference and double check all the evidence presented to him, even if it was not for the reasons that the chief prosecutor desired.

This happens every time, the fair haired attorney thought, resigned to the situation. A talented young newcomer in the office is always subject to a bit of talk. Of course there will be some rumors running rampant. However, something about the situation struck him as a bit strange – after all, the new transfer had yet to even go to court.

Filing away that information, he turned to address the busybody before he managed to aggravate the situation. "Mr. Ferguson, I can assure you that my relationship with Phoenix von Karma is strictly professional," Edgeworth spoke, his tone like ice. "I am only fulfilling the capacity of my responsibilities as both chief prosecutor and his immediate supervisor."

It should have been the last word. Even Stu could feel the tonal cue ending the discussion, disappointment and a bit of skepticism painted on his face. However, he sighed heavily, his large rounded shoulders shrugging. "Sure, sure. I get the picture. Though I can see why you would want to hoard him to yourself, the kid being a von Karma and all."

Miles froze, his face carelessly blank and his limbs turning to stone. As slow and as frightful as a seeping poison, he turned a lethal gaze towards the portly lout. "Mr. Ferguson. What exactly are you implying?" he hissed,

Only then did Stuart Ferguson realize the delicacy of his predicament, looking as though he had stepped upon a land mine and was frozen with the panic and indecision. "I – I, nothing, Mr. Edgeworth. I really didn't mean anything by it."

"No, Mr. Ferguson. I am afraid I cannot let it go just like that. I demand to know what you so bluntly insinuated. Now, explain yourself."

"Really, Mr. Edgeworth. Please, I was just spouting nonsense. It doesn't mean anything," the toad kept on insisting. "I – I won't tell anyone else."

"There is nothing to tell."

"No! No, of course there isn't! Slip of the tongue!"

This is just making the situation worse. Resisting the urge to massage away the headache throbbing at his temples, Miles retracted from his persecution and waved the man off in dismissal. "Just... leave," he muttered, sounding more tired than he had intended.

"Uh, yeah sure, Miles!" Stu stumbled back into his casual mode, relieved at the surprising release. "Well, you go on and have fun!" he said, doling out a small wave before he hauled out of the office as quickly as his waddling legs could take him.

A deep sigh escaped the fair haired attorney's lips, wearily glancing at his watch. "Blasted oaf."

~o~

June 30, 2022

S&amp;P Bakery

12:39 PM

Pastrami and brie or ham and four cheese...

The lunch-time patrons of the upscale bakery weeded about the chief prosecutor as he stared up at the black and caramel menu. Every so often, a bright light flashed across the words, reflecting off the glass wall and doors that separated the interior from the sidewalk café in the sunny street. Normally, he found the bakery a comfortable environment. However, the loud rabble of the customers and the glass doors did nothing for his mood or his headache.

Guh, what does it matter? Pheonix can pick what he wants.

The phone rang while Miles was in the middle of ordering, ambushing him with the Pink Princess theme song. It jolted him with surprise, his wallet falling out of his hands and onto the floor. Reaching for his leather wallet, Miles then realized the ringtone was the one that he had attached to Gumshoe and he scrambled for the phone, juggling the cell phone to a niche between his shoulder and his cheek as he pulled out some bills for the cashier.

"Hello? Gumshoe?"

The line crackled, an electric screech making the chief prosecutor wince. [-ello? Mr. Edge- you there?]

A frown knit Miles' brow, his ears straining to listen to the other line over the din of the lunch crowd. "Gumshoe, I can barely hear you."

[-orry! Didn't catch that! - it again?!]

"I said, I cannot hear you!"

[Wha~at?]

A loud 'ahem' coughed in front of him, forcing Miles' attention to the waiting cashier woman, who nearly glared at him waiting with change and paper bags. "Thank you," he said abashedly, for apologies did not come easily to him. Dumping the change first into his trench coat pocket and grabbing the bags with one hand, he eagerly escaped the lunch-time crowd.

"Gumshoe, are you still there?" he asked, bringing the cell phone to his ear.

A whining dial tone answered him. And despite his best efforts, Miles could not get a hold of Detective Gumshoe again.

~o~

June 30, 2022

Prosecutor's Office

1:21 PM

Phoenix did not say a word about the time when Miles finally made it to his office. His blue eyes only briefly glanced up from his work, taking in the haggard prosecutor's appearance, before he gave a polite nod and a quick salutation. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," the chief prosecutor halfway sighed as he placed the bags on top of the desk. Shrugging off his coat to place along the arm of a guest chair, he nearly collapsed into his seat. A hand raised to vaguely gesture at the bags. "Pastrami and brie, and ham and four cheese. Pick what you like."

The raven haired attorney blinked, pulling the bags over towards him. The sound of rustling paper crinkled in the air as he opened up the bags to peek in. "Well, what do you like, Herr Edgeworth?"

A shrug. "Both, I suppose."

Phoenix chewed on his lower lip, taking a quick peek inside the bags once more before his eyes drifted upwards. "Would you like to split the two?"

Miles blinked. Then a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "You want both of them, don't you?" he teased.

"...Maybe," the other man admitted, bravely trying to stave the flush in his cheeks. Miles laughed in reply, aiding the blush in growing worse.

"Fine, fine. I do not mind at all," the chief prosecutor responded, his smirk stretching into a full smile. Phoenix mumbled something that sounded like a 'danke,' keeping his eyes averted as he shuffled to the back cabinets for some utensils.

Miles' smile stayed, even through the redistribution of lunch and the quiet, peaceful repast. Suddenly, while he moved onto the macadamia cookie, his meal partner spoke up, distracting him. "It's nice to see your mood is better," he stated and if Miles did not know any better he would think it was sincere.

Only because you are my oasis, Phoenix. Strangely enough, even with all the grief that the man had been giving him as of late, Miles always found a refuge in the other man's company. Perhaps Phoenix Wright was still a little lost, but after the initial shock, the overwhelming relief from five years of wondering whether or not the man was alive still thrived within him. He already found himself looking forward to these meals that they shared together and the quiet moments with the two of them alone in his old office.

However, the chief prosecutor played dumb, his smile turning wistful. "Oh? Is that so? Well, I have been having a long day."

"Oh..." Phoenix echoed. He said nothing else, though his eyes reflected his mental fumbling for some other topic of conversation. It was surprising that he had initiated the small talk in the first place, much less wishing to continue it.

In fear of the conversation trailing off himself, Miles took the reins. His teasing smirk returned in full force, his gray eyes filled with mirth. "I am surprised you care. I was under the impression that you dislike me."

"I do," the transfer insisted hotly, his mouth pursing into a scowl. As though reminded of his dislike, his tears into his sandwich only became more forceful as he spoke. "However... since you are in here all the time, I would rather not have you moping."

"I do not mope," Miles immediately countered, his face forming a moue of indignity.

"Oh ja?" Phoenix asked and in the spur of the moment, he stood and leaned over the desk to cup Miles' chin between his fingers. "So what do you call this then?"

Their eyes met, Miles' wide surprised gray meeting an equally shocked sapphire.

A spark ran through them, like an electric shock and both jolted away, the other man's back smacking his chair into the cabinets behind him. Phoenix protectively clutched his hand to chest as if he had been burned. "Ah-ah," his voice scratched, his mind in a panic. "Verzeihung!" he nearly belted out, his head dipping in a bow of apology. "Th-that was highly inappropriate of me. I don't know what I was thinking."

Mutually stunned, Miles had to resist the urge to brush his fingers along his chin. The sensation of those long fingers still lingered there, as though the other man had some acidic quality to his skin. "I-it was not..." inappropriate? Actually, it was. "It was... nothing, Phoenix," the fair haired attorney replied, carefully neutral. "Do not worry yourself over it." He put the macadamia cookie down among the scraps of his meal, his appetite lost to him.

"Es tut mir schrecklich leid," Phoenix mumbled in apology once again, his eyes glued to the remnants of the meal in front of him, his posture a little too tight for just shame.

Then silence. Thick and adhesive.

The awkward tension was nearly as visible in the air as fog, compelling Miles to make a hasty retreat. Grabbing the plastic take out boxes, the prosecutor quickly disposed of them before he lay his coat along his forearm. "Well, I trust that you will make ready with the preparations for your trial tomorrow. I expect a report on it at the end of the day. Do call me if you need any help."

"Yes, Herr Edgeworth," Phoenix uttered in that tiny voice once more.

With that, the chief prosecutor abruptly vacated the room, his knee nearly colliding with the coffee table in his retreat. Once the office door safely snapped shut behind him, Miles shakily brushed his hand along his angular jawline, a dark blush heating the skin beneath his fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

July 1, 2022

Chief Prosecutor's Office

9:45 AM

The teapot clattered against the rim of the porcelain teacup betraying the trembling in the Chief Prosecutor's hands.

Today was Phoenix's first trial.

Well, not really. The newest von Karma had been practicing law for years now, ironically spending more of his years as a prosecutor than a defense attorney. Yet Miles could not shake the feelings akin to that of an anxious mother watching her child being taken off to kindergarten. Worry plagued him, unsure of whether or not Phoenix would do what was right when put to the public stage. Then again, perhaps he did not have anything to worry about with how unsure Phoenix was when he gave his final report yesterday.

Of course, there could have been other perfectly good reasons for the aversion in his blue eyes and the hesitation in his accented voice.

Even the faint thought of that innocent touch formed an uncomfortable, tight lump in his throat. Phoenix did not show up at the office this morning. The tea never made it to Miles' lips, the prosecutor abandoning in favor of leaning against the frame of the enormous window splayed across the north wall, his expression pensive. The brew was left to cool next to the bag of pastries that occupied his desk, untouched. Miles did not have the appetite for even one, let alone the two servings that he had bought.

He is probably already at the court house, the attorney assured himself, the voice in his mind much less determined than if he had spoken aloud. Or perhaps some last minute investigating. He has always been prone to such antics. There are many perfectly reasonable explanations for his absence.

Despite his skills of persuasion, Miles could not quite get himself to believe his own words.

He's avoiding me again. He's avoiding me when I didn't even do anything wrong and now I'm being punished!

Edgeworth wanted to rage at him. To simply let these irrational thoughts poison his worry into bitter resentment. Often enough his interactions with this new Phoenix made him feel as though he was dealing with a temperamental and rebellious child who deliberately refused to see his point of view or to abide by his rules. No, Phoenix was perfectly content to wallow in his little fantasy world of denial, wrapped up in the lies that the von Karma's spun around him like a trapped fly to a hungry spider.

Well, Miles was not going to allow Phoenix be that selfi-.

'RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR'

The rattling cry of the telephone interrupted Miles' thoughts, startling him so that he felt his very blood jump. His eyes glanced to the caller ID on his office phone, widening when he recognized Germany's country code. His hand snatched the handle of the phone faster than a rattlesnake and he snapped into the receiver, "Detective?"

[Mr. Edgeworth, sir!] Miles could nearly hear the salute over the phone.

"Where were you?" Edgeworth demanded coldly, his other hand tightening dangerously around the smooth shell of his favorite pen.

[Well, it was mighty hard to get a hold of you sir. Airport security confiscated my phone while I was picking up my bag. Then when I tried to use the payphone I never had enough coins to call home. Anyway, I did everything that you asked me – including sneaking into the Munich town hall archives. But I wasn't able to actually call until I used the hotel phone and let them dial you up for me. Boy, this is going to be a pretty hefty phone bill, sir. I hope I don't bust my credit before you take the bill, sir.]

Who said I was going to pay for this trip? Miles wondered to himself, though he was considerably calmer now. Releasing the strained bulk of his pen onto his desk, he allowed himself to relax his posture as he sighed, "Right, well, carry on, Detective. What did you learn?"

[Well, I dug up a whole lot of stuff from the town hall's archives. I copied every document about Phoenix von Karma, Birth Certificate, German citizenship, his affidavit for birth overseas, attorney license, all his University degrees. There's nothing else besides that.] Miles hummed darkly, running the information through his methodical processes. Gumshoe continued, taking the silence as distress. [Mr. Edgeworth, sir. I know that you want this guy to be Wright, but I don't think it's-]

"Does he have a driver's license?" Edgeworth interrupted, cutting the detective's consolatory gesture short.

The prosecutor could almost hear the buzz of dawning comprehension over the line. [Well – well, I'll be damned! There's no license anywhere!]

A smile stole across Miles' pale lips, his doubts erased like a gust of wind over a pyramid of sand. "You know our creed, Detective. Prove the guilt. Now I need you to take those documents to be checked for forgery," Miles ordered sharply, his tone brooking no argument. "I have an associate in Frankfurt. I need you to get the originals and take them to him for investigation. His name is Franco Bernstein. He is a sergeant in the 13thDistrict."

Truthfully, Bernstein hated him. However, the sergeant hated the von Karma family with an even greater passion and would undoubtedly help to uncover their nefarious plot. However, Gumshoe still gave pause. [Wait – the originals? How am I supposed to get those out of the archives? I wasn't even supposed to be in there in the first place! I'll be jailed if I'm caught!]

With a dismissive snort, the platinum haired attorney answered unhelpfully, "Be resourceful. I am sure that you can come up with some sort of plan."

[R-right,] the detective responded, his voice and his confidence cracking. Miles could not entirely blame him. German police were rather intimidating. [I guess I better be getting to that planning then,] Gumshoe said with a nervous laugh.

"Keep in touch," the prosecutor sternly reminded him, remembering his earlier frustration with their communication problems. With a tap of his finger, he ended the call. Miles leaned back into his leather chair's accommodating embrace as it tilted back and shifted his line of sight from his immaculate desk to the ceiling. His thoughts were just as foreboding as the enormous vaulted ceiling that loomed over him.

Perhaps he had been barking up the wrong tree entirely. Yes, Franziska's witch of a sister was conveniently place in Munich with her summer residence there. However, she was not nearly powerful enough on her own to be able to manipulate the civil system enough to produce not only a state identification number and a Birth Certificate, but even degrees from highly established Universities and an Attorney license. It had to be someone who could work within the state courts of course, as well as being a significant political figure.

Immediately a suspect arose from the mire of his dark thoughts, as clear and as bright as Swiss Guard uniforms. Friedrich von Karma. Manfred von Karma's older brother – Patriarch of the von Karma family, leaving Manfred free to come to America while his brother handled the family back in Deutschland. Friedrich had every bit of Manfred's viciousness and cunning and more. However, he was a pragmatic man, who would not endanger the family to seek personal revenge. That did not bar him from being capable of it should the opportunity for retribution fall into his lap.

More damning was that Friedrich was in fact a practicing attorney in Munich. He was also Phoenix's supposed legal mentor and his fiancée's father.

Every clue that Miles had so far was leading him straight to Friedrich. However, the fact that he had a definite suspect did not comfort Miles in the least. He wondered if Bernstein would be capable of taking on Friedrich von Karma by himself. The man had already gone to such lengths to abduct and brainwash Phoenix into his own making. How much further would he be willing to go in the name of vengeance? Was the revenge even against Phoenix?

The dark and irrational suspicion rose like a bubble of noxious gas. Miles was already shaking his head at the madness of the idea. How could Friedrich even know of his romantic thoughts concerning Phoenix? They barely knew each other, connecting the other simply as a close associate of Manfred von Karma. Not even his own closest acquaintances know about his more tender feelings towards Phoenix and at the time he did whatever he could to hide his embarrassing emotions. Of course, Detective Gumshoe was a terrible standard to go by.

Yet Miles could not comprehend what possible need there would be to assign the brainwashed defense attorney a fiancée, Friedrich's own daughter no less. Why sully his family in such a fashion? It did not make sense!

Rubbing the heels of his hands against his brow, Miles fought his own exasperated frustration. Off hand, he glance at his desk clock, absently wondering the duration of his mental ponderings. His whole body gave a start, jolting with shock when he realized the time. He cursed. "I'm already late!" Phoenix von Karma's trial was to start in fifteen minutes. Dumbfounded by his own carelessness, he grabbed his coat and hastily made his way to the office's parking garage while all his anger and worries on the raven haired attorney's behalf were left to incubate as the Chief Prosecutor ran out of his office in an unprecedented rush to leave.

~o~

July 1, 2022

15th District Court House

11:32 AM

Small pants of breath escaped from Miles Edgeworth's lips when he finally arrived at the court house, skidding from his dash to a dignified gait as he entered the large oak double doors and onto the black and white tiled corridors. The old hall bustled with people. Judges, attorney, criminals, family and friends, and jurors of every diversity milled about the granite floors. The wooden buttressed ceilings hummed with the echoes of their voices, sometimes gleeful, sometimes sorrowful, often loud, but ultimately solemn, akin to a spectacle of the gallows.

Miles meticulously checked that not a hair was disheveled while he strode along the hallways and towards the designated court. The armed bailiffs outside the door recognized him immediately and let him enter without a thought. The door squealed as he opened it and all the faces turned to him. It was only then that Miles realized that he had walked in on the Defense's opening statement. Well, his timing was certainly serendipitous, he thought as he fought a smirk.

His grey eyes sought the Prosecuting Bench and was enormously relived to see that Phoenix was certainly there. Caught like a fish on those familiar blue eyes, Miles bee-lined straight towards the bench, only stopping long enough to give a candid apology to the Judge for his tardiness. He ignored Defense.

"Glad you could make it," Phoenix said with the barest trace of his accent. The phrase was so saturated with the man's private but characteristic sarcasm that it sent an unnerved and excited thrill through the fair haired attorney.

Miles sat down, the cheap wooden chair letting out a short streak of noise as he pulled closer to the table. "My apologies," he spoke quietly, "I was caught up by an urgent phone call." His grey eyes caught onto Phoenix's blue. "I would not miss this for the world, Phoenix."

The tenderness in his voice came unexpectedly for both of them, thoughts of yesterday's innocuous but subliminally sexual touch sprang to mind. Too embarrassed to admonish his supervisor further, Phoenix swallowed uncomfortably as though a fish bone was lodged in his throat and he nodded with a sharp drop of his chin. Miles suddenly remembered his earlier suspicions that the former defense attorney was avoiding him. Maybe there was some accuracy to his hysterical thoughts after all.

The judge coughed and hummed at the end of the Defense's opening argument. "Hmm, yes, quite convincing. The prosecution will have a hard time working around that."

By "that," the elderly man meant alibi. Head of Gigit Motors, John Maxwell's alibi to be precise. It was a case of the murder of a young woman named Jane Lew just a couple months ago. The murder occurred at work, at the office building Maxwell's company owned – inside Maxwell's office no less, done with what the police assumed to be the blade of a paper cutter. Moreover, there was rumored to be some history between the victim and the defendant, and the executive was getting married soon.

The problem was that witnesses had seen Powers leave the building to go off and buy wedding rings. One of whom was a police officer who had stopped Power's driver for speeding. Miles snorted softly as he looked over at the quiet and demure fellow at the Defense's bench. If the prosecutor did not know any better, he would say that the trembling sandy haired man with square gold-rimmed glasses was incapable of murder. However, years of experience both in court and out taught Miles that one could never judge a book by its cover. One had to discern the truth through hard fact rather than an intangible impression.

And the fact of the matter was that the police could not place the missing weapon in John Maxwell's hands. In fact, they could not even place John Maxwell at the crime scene. Miles would not have been surprised if an enemy of the corporate executive had attempted to set him up, or even that the executive had planned her murder. That would bring him down with conspiracy, but the department did not even have that. The only reason why this case was even submitted was because a decrepit, old officer by the name of Toole had already arrested Maxwell and charged him, leaving all the work to the attorneys naturally.

The Chief Prosecutor glanced sideways at his colleague, wondering what Phoenix was going to do – a rather uncomfortable to be in when you were supposed to be supervising. He never had fully expected to be able to control Phoenix's antics, so he was not too offended by the fact. It still left him slightly uneasy when the warm body beside him, decorated in that long tailed navy blue uniform, rose to a stand.

With a practiced ease and confidence ripened with years of experience, Phoenix's voice smoothly addressed the court room, "As the prosecution's first witness, I call Officer Hamada to the stand."

Miles' head snapped over to stare at his colleague incredulously. That was the defense's witness! Had the man somehow forgotten what side of the courtroom he was on? Not that the notion wasn't ideal of course… Officer Hamada, a well groomed man of Japanese descent, looked confused at the turn of events. However, he made his way to the witness stand without protest. No officer enjoyed testifying against their own department after all. Defense looked similarly confused at the proceedings, before the attorney blustered: "OBJECTION! That is the Defense's witness!" he called out with a slam of his hand on the table.

The prosecutor turned his towards his opponent. "He must be a reliable witness then. However, I need this officer's testimony for my burden of proof and since you already approved him then there is no reason for objection." His cool blue eyes narrowed, daring the man to contradict him as his chin turned to a self-assured angle.

The fair haired prosecutor's eyes widened further in shock when he saw in plain observance the evidence of strict von Karma training. The flawless pose, the near arrogant confidence… memories of his own stringent training flashed across his eyes, imposing themselves on the meticulously garbed figure in the center of the court room. Miles wondered what other things Friedrich von Karma must have taught Phoenix Wright, and the possibilities painted a picture too unwholesome to think upon.

"If you would proceed, Mr. von Karma," the bearded judge declared.

Phoenix bowed lightly, the heels of his boots clicking as he straightened. "Of course, your Honor." He turned towards Officer Hamada, his hands crossing behind his back, as he crossed the court to the witness stand. "Officer Hamada, am I to understand that you had stopped the defendant's car on the day of the murder?"

The police officer nodded. "Yes, sir," he spoke with a sharp matter-of-fact tone that made him ideal for an expert witness. "I stopped his car at 1:35 PM for speeding."

"I understand that the windows on the defendant's vehicle are tinted. Are you sure that Mr. Maxwell was in the car?" the blue eyed prosecutor followed succinctly.

"Yes, sir. I saw him when I leaned over to ask for the driver for his license and registration."

Not at all fazed by this information, Phoenix headed to the Defense's bench to grab a portfolio of traffic photographs, much to the defense attorney's outrage. However, it allowed Edgeworth to gauge the raven haired prosecutor's expression. At seeing nothing else but Phoenix's self-same spark of determination in his eyes, Miles allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. Perhaps the other man had not been as contaminated as he previously thought.

"Officer Hamada, since you served as a traffic patrolman for the past seven years, would you say that you could give an expert opinion on the routes in the city?" Phoenix asked as he strode back to the witness stand. The police officer nodded the affirmative. "Then could you examine these traffic light photographs which show Mr. Maxwell's vehicle along his route?"

The court was silent as Officer Hamada took the portfolio from the prosecutor's hands and he slowly and conscientiously flipped through the photographs. After a time he looked up and frowned at his questioner. "They look like duplicates, sir."

The attorney merely smiled, his mind clearly conspiring on its own. "They would look like that, officer, save for the pictures by the clock shop. Do you notice something odd about the time?"

Officer Hamada's black eyes turned back to the pictures and he flushed with embarrassment at not noticing the minor detail before. "Ah, they were taken at different times. About an hour apart."

"Exactly!" Phoenix jumped on the detail. "One was taken at 1:24 PM before you had stopped the vehicle and the other had been taken at 2:30 PM. Now what can you gather from these photographs now that you know that they were taken at different times?"

The police officer looked at the photographs once more, far more diligent in his studying than he had been the first time to compensate for his careless mistake. "From these photographs, I would say that Mr. Maxwell's vehicle had circled about the same routes multiple times before it made it to the jewelry store."

Phoenix nodded sagely. "Yes. And with the receipt from the jewelry store which shows that the defendant had purchased the two wedding rings he had put on hold at 3:14 PM. However, we have statements from the witnesses at the defendant's office that the defendant had left at 1:00 PM and arrived back at 4:00 PM. –"

"Objection!" the defense attorney cried out again, though it was not as vigorous as his first appeal. "You Honor, what is the relevance of this evidence? My client's driver could have simply gotten lost on the way to the jewelry store. And Defense's evidence, which the Prosecution keepsusing," he added with a dirty look at Phoenix, "clearly shows that not only was Mr. Maxwell within the vehicle, but that he had never exited the vehicle for the duration of the trip!"

"OBJECTION!" Phoenix exclaimed, making his opposition jump out of his skin. "That statement is false!" He turned straight back to Officer Hamada on the bench. "Officer, would you look at the tires of the defendant's vehicle. Specifically at the height of the tires."

Miles Edgeworth and the rest of the court watched with suspenseful intrigue as the police officer once again pored over the photographs. He could see the enlightenment dawn in the man's mind as he thrice examined the pictures. Caught up in the uncovering of these new details, Officer Hamada shed his purely professional demeanor for excited wonder. "The tires! They're higher for an hour!"

"Right! Meaning that there's less pressure on them! Meaning that at some point the defendant had actually left the vehicle and returned to it before it made its way to the jewelry store!" The German prosecutor splayed a hand towards the witness stand where Officer Hamada and the portfolio still sat. "This so called alibi is merely an overly concocted plan to throw the police off his trail! How could his vehicle have been documented with traffic light photographs for the entire duration of the trip? And why did the defendant take three hours to arrive at his destination even though his driver was speeding?" He pointed straight at John Maxwell, his pose poised and righteous. "Your Honor, the defendant used Officer Hamada and the city's own cameras to create his air-tight alibi!"

"But he never got out of the CAR!" Defense nearly screamed in exasperation as he almost bounced on the balls of his heels, his hands raking into his thinning hair.

"Not. Out. Of. The. Doors," Phoenix tut-tutted with a smirk, his tone both serenely calm and smug.

The entire court had to pause to think about that statement. Then Defense cried with equal fury, "He didn't go out of the windows either!"

"No, he didn't," the prosecutor responded cryptically. With that, the raven haired man jogged back to the Prosecution's bench, grabbing a manila folder among his things. Phoenix caught onto his colleague's grey eyes, and a raw nervous smile touched the edge of his lips. Then it was gone in a flash, buried under layers of von Karma training. With a long breath, the attorney marched over towards the judge's bench and handed a folder to the bailiff. "Your Honor, I would like to submit this statement from the crime investigation forensics team from their examination of the defendant's vehicle last night."

The judge looked at the document briefly, before he nodded. "I'll allow it."

"Thank you, your Honor," Phoenix said with another curt bow. He turned back to the court. "This document states that an investigation of the defendant's car reveals that there was an access point on the floor, which would allow a person to slip through to the ground below."

His blue eyes narrowed on the defendant. "Moreover, the traffic light photographs also reveal that the defendant's vehicle had passed over a number of manholes on its route. Anyone of which could lead back to the maintenance rooms in the basement of the defendant's building… several of which having elevators that lead all the way up to Mr. Maxwell's office."

The words rang ominously in the court's thick and heavy air, pregnant with the suggestion of murder.

Curious, the chief prosecutor glanced over at the defendant, wondering how the man was reacting to this news. The trembling sandy haired man had descended into full blown shakes, his skin as white as maggot flesh, sweat forming full beads upon his quivering brow. With a start, Miles thought that he could nearly see the man's heart palpating out of his chest.

My God, he is guilty!

Yet Phoenix still failed to place the smoking gun in the murderer's hands. Without forensic evidence connecting Maxwell to the murder specifically, all this evidence could only amount to opportunity, but not the damning guilt.

Nonetheless, a hush came over the court room, in light of this new evidence. Eyes wide and excited, the members of the court murmured quietly among themselves, their whispers like the buzzing of summer dragonflies. They slowly abated when once again the prosecutor strode towards his bench to gather up his briefcase.

Every eyes was on Phoenix von Karma, his stride as slow and purposeful as an executioner's walk, as he traveled the course of the court back to the judge's bench. The clasps of the leather case clapped as he opened the case. Then he pulled out an evidence bag, in which there lay the long thick blade of a paper cutter dislodged from its customary wooden board. Its metallic shaft gleamed sickeningly in the court's lights, encrusted with rust colored blood.

"Your Honor," the raven haired man spoke with an air of solemn finality. "I would like to submit this evidence as the murder weapon."

"Why was this not given with the rest of the evidence in the case, Mr. von Karma?" the judge demanded, his eyes narrowing dangerously on the prosecutor.

A sly smile came to Phoenix's face, a grin of subversive triumph. "That would be because we found it in the sewers just last night, right next to my next piece of evidence which I will be submitting now –" He turned to face the Defense bench, his blue eyes ablaze as he pointed straight towards the defendant. "– John Maxwell's suit covered in his DNA and the victim's blood!"

John Maxwell let out a long desperate and ultimately guilty cry, his face as white as plaster, as the court erupted into chaos. The defense attorney's jaw dropped, unable to find any words to put up an argument. Clamor and shouts burst from the witnesses and family members within the court room, as the judge pounded his echoing gavel on the podium, calling for order. The defendant's fiancée, her white face quickly turning tomato red, marched up to her betrothed and slapped him hard across the face in righteous fury. The bailiffs' heads whipped about the scene, uncertain of what course to take.

Meanwhile, Miles Edgeworth could only stare wordlessly at Phoenix von Karma – no, Phoenix Wright – in his glorious turnabout victory.

Not even two hours later, Maxwell was pronounced guilty.

~o~

July 1, 2022

15th District Court House

3:48 PM

The two attorneys left the court house out the back entrance to avoid the media. The city streets were still congested with daytime traffic and the din of the frenzied journalists and photographers could be heard even from the other side of the prestigious building. As soon as the two were safely distanced from the building, the Chief Prosecutor caught Phoenix by his coat's navy blue velvet sleeve. Fearing this, the German prosecutor nonetheless wordlessly turned around, his blue eyes both expectant and resigned.

Phoenix knew that Herr Edgeworth would be far from happy. His heart sunk down to his leather boots like a lead weight at the thought of facing Herr Edgeworth's disappointment. If only the fair haired prosecutor knew how crushed he felt after their initial meeting, his encounter with the famous (or rather infamous) protégé of Manfred von Karma, their adopted family member, ruined by the seductive memory of a lost disgrace of a man.

He had worried all of last night about the inevitable confrontation with his supervisor, even as he trekked through the city sewers to look for the murderer's discarded clothes and weapon. Irrationally, he nearly believed that Herr Edgeworth would not come to his first trial out of pure resentment. The very thought of his great debut, his complete turnabout, demeaned by Herr Edgeworth's unreasonable expectations nearly made him want to cry in frustration.

The heels of his leather boots clicked together as he fully faced Miles F. Edgeworth, waiting for his admonishing words.

"Congratulations."

Phoenix gave a visible start when Herr Edgeworth spoke with a voice like warm liquor and his colorless eyes shone as bright as diamonds. He stared incredulously as the Chief Prosecutor extended his hand. "I… you… you are not unhappy with me for winning, Herr Edgeworth?" he asked, his fingers trembled even as he fisted his hands, his heavy heart distressed by a tiny shred of hope.

"Phoenix," Miles spoke with that warm liquid sincerity, "you are an amazing prosecutor. It would be an injustice if I belittled that in any way." His fingers moved just slightly, bringing the raven haired man's attention back to the proffered hand. "And I would be honored if you would accept my congratulations."

The junior prosecutor's cheeks brushed with rosy wine and his fingers still trembled slightly as he took Miles' warm hand in his own. Overwhelmed, Phoenix thought that his eyes might tear up anyway as his mind alit with all the words that he wanted to say.

'No, I'M honored by your acknowledgement! – You don't know what it means to me! – The only reason why I moved to America was to meet you! – I love the way that you're looking at me right now…'

Thankfully, the hammering of his heart in his throat constricted his voice from blurting any embarrassing details. Instead, all he managed was a simple, "Danke schoen, Herr Edgeworth."

A brief smile stole onto the Chief Prosecutor's features, though the expression took on a bittersweet undertone. "And as promised, I will no longer give you anymore cases like that. No more possible conflicts of conscience for you," Herr Edgeworth murmured depreciatingly.

Phoenix paused at the thought, a slight thread of alarm coursing through his veins. "M-moment mal," he said, holding up a hand to catch the thought. "You do not need to be so hasty, Herr Edgeworth. I need to apologize for what I said before." His cheeks colored even further, the dusky rosé nearly becoming burgundy. "I should not have been so quick to dismiss the case and the opportunity that came with it. Also I… it feels… good to bring justice in the courtroom, even when the odds are stacked against me. I-In fact, it's exhilarating," he said in breathless reverence.

Nothing could replace how his heart pounded in that court room, how his heart leapt when the judge pronounced the murderer guilty and justice was served. A smile came to the junior prosecutor's face at the remembrance. "I am willing to take whatever case you are willing to give me, Herr Edgeworth. I will not fail you."

Herr Edgeworth dropped his shapely jaw in astonishment. "I, you, really? Oh," he stuttered intelligently before he made a rhetoric recovery. "Well, I will be looking forward to working with you in the future then."

Phoenix's smile grew wider, "It would be my honor," he said with a flourished bow, his long strand of hair rolling over his wide shoulder with the fluid movement.

When he straightened, the two stood in a pregnant silence, both unwilling to initiate their parting even though they realized that it was inevitable. Herr Edgeworth shifted his weight from foot to foot, his gaze darting from the concrete to his colleague and back as quickly as the wings of a hummingbird. Phoenix was similarly torn. He knew that he admired Herr Edgeworth and he secretly reveled in all the attention that the elegant and devastatingly attractive attorney had seen fit to give him.

Yet he knew that the only reason why Herr Edgeworth paid him half as much attention was because of his misguided belief that he and Phoenix Wright were one in the same.

But Herr Edgeworth had just acknowledged him as a prosecuting attorney. That had to count for something. Right?

Suddenly, the fair haired prosecutor brought him out of his thoughts. "It is a bit late to get back to the office," he said with some reluctance as he glanced at his well worn Movado. "I suppose that I should head back home." His expressive grey eyes glanced up at Phoenix, wavering on an unspoken thought. "…See you next week, Phoenix," he finally said after a time. He hesitantly turned towards the nearby parking garage.

Phoenix watched him, his voice mute with indecision as every step Herr Edgeworth took put more distance between them. An odd feeling stirred in his gut, like the uncomfortable pulsing of a cold heart, as he did naught but watch as Miles Edgeworth turned the corner and disappear from sight. A sigh escaped him, though the strange squirming within his gut refused to relent as he walked towards the bus stop.


End file.
